


'Boy Wonder', October 1976

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Appeal Hearings, Court Cases, Court hearings, Detectives, Gen, Killings, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, homicides, knifings, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Kojak’s thoughts concerning the events that occurred in the Season 4 episode 'Law Dance' with a few changes and bits added.This is an original story set in October 1976Feedback welcome





	'Boy Wonder', October 1976

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now I'm retired I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 32 in 1975, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 25 in this story. In the season 1 episode “Deliver us Some Evil” (1974) Crocker mentions a sister, but since she's never referred to again, I've created my own version of her. She is the only 'biological' relative I'm allowing him to have. And as little is known about his back story, I've made up my own version.
> 
> Original characters: None
> 
> Spoilers: Major spoilers for the Season 4 episode 'Law Dance', and minor ones for my story 'New Beginings'. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Tuesday morning

It was just after 11:00 when I walked into the Criminal Courts Building. Crocker had been there since daybreak giving evidence in an appeal case involving one Burl Slote; the man he’d arrested four years ago for robbery and the murder of three people at the Award Diner on Vestry. Aged twenty-one and just four weeks out of the academy, it had been his first arrest, and one of the reasons he'd come to my attention. We’d managed to find a witness, the owner of the diner, Lionel Lessonbee and despite his wife’s strong objections he had agreed to provide evidence in court which would help us put Slote back where he belonged – for good.

****

“Hey copper! You wanna give an old lady a hand?” the voice called out as I exited the elevator on the second floor. I looked around and there she was; Mae Lester, court room groupie and knitter of the finest woollen socks; but only for those who deserved them. I told her the court house would collapse without her daily visits. She laughed and asked me what an old broad like her was supposed to do; catch a dirty movie? Spend all day watching soap operas on the TV? No, this she told me, was where the 'action' was. As we walked along, she informed me that Judge Rowland Burke, otherwise known as ‘Old Cautious’ was on the bench, and that he would spend so much time instructing the jury, the lawyers and perhaps even the janitor that it would probably be next week before anything ‘interesting’ happened. The accused had got himself a sharp lawyer she told me, and the original case had been four years ago. People forget she said sadly and then told me that the man we had working for the prosecution, Assistant DA Josh Candoo was a baby. The man was actually in his early thirties, she should wait until she saw Crocker I told myself; he was only twenty-five! We entered the court room and sat down in the front row, behind the prosecutor’s chair.

****

“What was your position in the Police Department on the day of the robbery?” I heard Candoo ask.

“I was a uniformed patrolman at the time and my beat included Vestry Street, and that’s where the Award Diner was located,” Crocker replied. Candoo then asked for it to be entered into the records that the diner was owned by Mr Lionel Lessonbee. The man was due to be our star witness today, but so far there was no sign of him. I heard Candoo ask Crocker something and my detective reply that he was thinking.

“OK,” Candoo continued. “I realise that it was four years ago, but can you tell us what occurred at the Award Diner on that day?” 

“I was standing across the street,” Crocker replied, “when my attention was drawn to the premises of the diner. The blinds were down and there was a closed sign on the door.”

“Was that unusual?” Candoo asked.

“Yes,” Crocker replied. “Because it was lunchtime and that’s usually a busy hour for them. I started across the street and I heard two gunshots coming from inside the diner. As I approached the door I heard another gunshot, and I also heard screaming and shouting. The door was locked, but I could see just past the blind. There were people standing around with their hands raised and I could make out three men lying on the floor with what appeared to be blood on them.” I noticed several members of the jury nodding approvingly; so far, so good. “Then I noticed a man in a blue ski-type jacket running toward the rear of the diner.”

“Why did you notice this particular man?” Candoo asked.

“He had a gun in his hand!” Crocker replied sharper than intended, I think. 

“What about the other people in the diner?” Candoo then asked.

“I told Mr Lessonbee, the owner, to call for an ambulance and then to call the precinct. Then I drew my service revolver and pursued the gunman.” Crocker replied. 

“Can you describe that please?” Candoo asked. 

“I chased him south on Greenwich. He was about a block ahead of me and running. I was able to close the gap a bit, and then he turned east onto Laight and then north onto Hudson where he ran into an apartment building located at number 409. He then ran up the stairs and locked himself in a fourth floor apartment.” 

I was impressed. Unlike the rest of us on the squad Crocker has always taken good care of himself; he goes running or works out at a local gym when he can, eats sensibly most of the time - when he remembers to eat, doesn’t drink much, and doesn’t smoke at all… I also remembered reading the file on this case when I was looking for a new person to join our merry band, it was one of the reasons I'd stuck my neck out and recommended HIM instead of going with someone older and with more experience.

“How far behind him were you?” Candoo asked.

“I was pretty close at that time,” Crocker replied. “I was on the third floor landing and I could see him up through the stairwell.”

“And when you reached the door?”

“I identified myself as a police officer and demanded entry,” Crocker replied.

“And?”

“And a shot came through the door!” Crocker answered sharply. I could see he was getting antsy.

“Are you sure you identified yourself loudly enough to be heard inside the apartment?”

“Yes sir! I screamed it!” Crocker replied. 

There was still no sign of Lionel Lessonbee, so I asked Mae to keep an eye on things while I went in search of him. I was hoping his wife hadn’t managed to persuade him to not come to court. She smiled and told me ‘my boy’ was doing OK.

****

I arrived outside the apartment building and immediately noticed Saperstein’s and Stavros’ cars, along with the Forensics Team’s vehicle and the ME’s car. Clearly something had happened. A uniformed officer directed me down to the basement where I found Saperstein holding a small dog. A covered body was lying on a stretcher nearby. I removed the sheet from the face. Saperstein informed me that the deceased was our witness Lionel Lessonbee. I asked to see the ME, Forensics and the first cop on the scene, in that order, and then asked him to call the captain and inform him about what had occurred as the DA would need to be notified.

Moscowitz the Medical Examiner came over. I presumed Lessonbee hadn’t died of natural causes. He shook his head and informed me that his death had been caused by a knife, a big one; so big that it had gone through a couple of ribs on the way in. That would have taken some strength I thought. I asked Moscowitz to let me know as soon as he was sure. He nodded and moved off. I looked across at Saperstein who was still holding the small dog. He informed me that it belonged to the deceased. I asked him to go and check for witnesses and get a statement to find out how the man had been ‘suckered’ into the basement.

I wandered over to where Sergeant Prince from Forensics was busy making notes. He informed me that from the bloodstains and marks on the floor it looked as if our victim had been killed in the elevator and then dragged out into the room in which we were now gathered. He also said that it looked as if someone had been fooling with the elevator buttons as he’d found alligator clip marks. Prince commented that it looked as if someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble for a mugging. I asked what made him think Lessonbee had been mugged. He replied that the man didn’t have a wallet on him. That’s pure smoke I informed him and yelled for the first cop on the scene. 

I was surprised when the doorman appeared and asked him sarcastically whose police force HE worked for. He showed me some identification and told me that he worked for Safe and Loft but ‘moonlighted’ as a security guard at the apartment building for four hours a day. He exclaimed that he didn’t know how ‘all this’ had happened; that he was outside watching this guy walking his dog. The guy came back and got into the elevator, and then twenty minutes later his wife calls down looking for him. I asked him if any strangers had been in or out of the building, but he replied that he couldn’t be absolutely sure as he'd been out on 3rd Avenue whistling cabs. My attention was drawn back to the dog. I told him that most people who own dogs have a regular walking routine. He replied that Lessonbee did; same time every morning and evening, and then he suddenly realised that anyone watching the building could have found that out. The man looked upset by this realisation. I told him that he shouldn’t blame himself as he hadn’t been assigned to Personal Protection, and added that I’d like to know why no one WAS assigned.

“It wasn’t because they weren’t asked,” a voice came from behind me. I turned round and came face to face with Carol Lessonbee, the deceased’s widow. She told me that she’d begged for assistance, that she’d called the Prosecutor’s Office at least half a dozen times, and on one occasion had actually spoken to the man, who’d told her he’d look into the matter. After that all she got was bored secretaries on the phone who didn’t want to know. She’d even called the police, she told me, but had been informed that no men were available. How was that possible she asked? Thirty thousand cops and not one was available! She pulled back the sheet and looked down at her husband. She asked who the next poor believing fool was going to be and then broke down in my arms.

****

I arrived back at the Criminal Courts building and walked into the court room behind the jury which for some reason had been temporarily removed. Crocker was still in the witness stand but Slote’s attorney Orin Kingsley was now asking the questions.

“Detective Crocker, how long had you been on the force before all this happened?” the man asked.

“Not long. I was just out of the Police Academy; about four weeks I think,” Crocker replied. Kingsley then made some remark about my detective’s lack of experience, and then asked him if he’d ever been involved in any violent situations before; robberies, murders… I knew he'd seen plenty of violence in his life, but I was pretty sure that as a cop he’d not been involved with any violent situations until the incident at the Award Diner. I sat back down next to Mae. She asked me how things were going. I shrugged and told her they weren’t going well. She added to my misery by informing me that the judge had just dismissed the best part of our evidence. I leaned forward in my seat and informed Candoo that Lessonbee had been killed, and that it had been made to look like a mugging. This news of course, ‘blew’ our case. I told him to hang on, and that I didn’t care how he did it; I just needed more time. 

At that moment Candoo yelled at the judge about ‘something’ being entirely irrelevant and my attention was drawn back to the activity in the room. 

“Where are you going with these questions Mr Kingsley?” the judge asked.

“I’m just questioning the character of the witness Your Honour,” Kingsley replied, “trying to determine if there were any motives beyond duty urging him on.” I saw the look of disgust on Crocker’s face which undoubtedly matched my own. There was no doubt Kingsley was a clever lawyer.

“In view of the gravity of this case, I will allow a certain leeway,” the judge replied and told Kingsley he could proceed – but with caution.

“Alright I’ll ask you again,” Kingsley resumed. “Would you say you are an ambitious man?”

“Not overly,” Crocker replied. It was true; I’ve been trying to persuade him to sit the Sergeant’s exam all year. It would be a walk in the park for him, but for some reason was reluctant to try, even though it would mean a significant pay rise. I noticed Kingsley pointing at my detective’s jacket.

“Yet you carry the coveted gold shield of a detective.” I could see Crocker’s hot head was in danger of making an appearance which was no doubt what Kingsley wanted.

“Yes, I am a detective!” my man replied defensively.

“How long have you been one?” Kingsland asked.

“About four years!”

“Was your arrest of the defendant the reason why you were promoted?” Now I could see what game Kingley was playing. He was hoping that if Crocker had been promoted simply because of the Award Diner robbery, and if it was proven that Slote was innocent, my detective would be discredited and might lose his shield. Unfortunately Kingsley had got it all wrong.

“It was ONE of the reasons,” Crocker replied. Good for him I thought; the kid had also caught on to the game Kingsley was playing.

“What was the defendant wearing when you made the arrest?” 

“A white sort-of tee-shirt,” Crocker replied.

“Oh, I thought you said the man you were chasing was wearing a blue ski jacket?” Kingsland pushed.

“He was!” Crocker replied, “He got rid of it while he was running; he threw it into the back of a passing truck!” Kingsley made some remark and Crocker told him it WAS four years ago and he’d forgotten about the incident. 

“The man you saw in the diner; the man in the blue ski jacket. He was running away from you.” Kingsley commented. “Did you see his face?”

“No,” Crocker replied. “I didn’t; not at that time anyway.”

“Well how about the men in the street; the one in the jacket, and the one in the tee-shirt, how about their faces?” Kingsley pushed. I spotted the ‘trick’ in the question, but unfortunately Crocker didn’t.

“No they had to turn…”

“They?” Kingsland leapt in excitedly, cutting Crocker off.

“Not THEY; it was the same man, HIM!” Crocker replied, angrily pointing to where Slote was sat.

“Be sure Detective Crocker, because this man’s freedom is at stake. You lost track of him didn’t you; round corners. He was a block ahead.”

“Only for a minute: It was the same man!”

“Was it? Or was it just the hope of an excited young cop running after his chance of a gold shield.” At this point Candoo yelled ‘Objection!” and the judge agreed and told Kingsland to stop with the theatricals. Kingsley apologised and claimed that there was some doubt as to whether the man Crocker had chased was the same person he’d caught and asked him if that were not so.

“Not in my mind there isn’t!” Crocker replied.

“But how can you be sure?” Kingsley asked. “After all it all happened SO long ago.” I watched as Crocker looked across at the judge and realised that what he wanted to say next was now considered inadmissible evidence, and he had nothing left.

“Because he had the…”

“He had the what?” Kingsley pressed.

“Because I am that’s all!” Crocker shouted back. Kingsley smiled. I really didn’t like this man.

“That’s all, Detective Crocker.” Kingsley turned and looked at the jury, “I think we’ve heard enough.” And with that my man was dismissed and the case adjourned for the rest of the day.

****

The three of us; myself, Crocker and Candoo headed downstairs to the DA’s Bureau.

“He must have had a real turkey for a lawyer in the beginning.” Candoo remarked. “Any half-wit could have spotted an illegal search,” and that was the problem with our case. At the time and fearful for his safety the inexperienced Patrol Officer Robert Crocker had carried out an illegal search. Once he’d handcuffed Slote to his radiator, he’d ‘tossed’ the man’s entire apartment rather than just conducting an arms length search for any concealed weapons. An easy mistake to make, and definitely not one he’d make now. But Slote had obviously remembered it, and Kingsley was using it as the focus for his case.

I told Candoo that in my opinion Slote’s then lawyer had been ‘sailing’, or Slote had. They both would have known that we had enough on him without the loot from the robbery to put him on the moon; Slote had pleaded guilty on purpose; it was the only chance he had! Plead guilty, go directly to jail and don’t pass Go and the ‘white hats’, the good guys, they pat one another on the back, close the case, and that’s it!

We walked into the bureau, it was packed with people. We slowly made our way over to Candoo’s desk. Four years ago, I told him… things are cloudy, evidence is hard to find and witnesses disappear. Or get murdered, Crocker added. Up until now my detective had been very quiet, but without looking at him as we came down the stairs I could sense he was angry; mostly with himself for making such a stupid mistake in Slote's apartment. He told me that he wished he’d known then what he knew now. I asked him what he would do; shoot the man down and plant the evidence on him? Crocker replied that he’d be tempted. I told him I get tempted too, every time one of these ‘animals’ hauls himself out of trouble because of the broken down system we have. But that system is still better than some tough cop running a street court. 

At that moment Candoo’s boss David Fox arrived in the room followed by my boss Captain McNeil. I began to yell at Fox but Frank cut me off and informed me that we weren’t finished yet. Fox told us that maybe WE weren’t finished yet, but HE was cutting Slote loose as he had no case. We looked at him in amazement, and Frank reminded him that four years ago Slote had killed three people in front of sixteen witnesses, that he’d killed at least two other people in other robberies and had a yellow sheet that went back to when he’d assaulted someone when he was fifteen years old! Fox then pointed out that while there had been sixteen witnesses to the Award Diner murders, four of them including Lionel Lessonbee were now dead, one of them was in her nineties, one lived on an alcoholic ward, one lived in a doorway, and another one was in jail – in Portugal yet. There were also three South Vietnamese sailors, and the remaining five witnesses had moved house so many times they were now untraceable. I could see Frank’s left eye twitching; always a sign that he’s about to ‘blow’. He demanded to know why we’d never been told about the untraceable witnesses; why it was that we get called in at the last minute when WE were the ones who had started the investigation in the first place!

Fox admitted that yes, mistakes had been made, and if more witnesses could be found… but he didn’t have the time because he needed Candoo elsewhere. Crocker sarcastically asked if that was because the DA’s office was falling behind with its plea bargaining. I was about to yell at my detective, but Fox stopped me and told me Crocker was right; they make all kinds of deals with all kinds of crud because they have to. He told me they were looking at seventeen hundred murders so far this year, and they hadn’t yet begun dealing with LAST year’s cases, that prisoners awaiting trial were ‘stacked up’ three deep over at Riker’s Island because he’s under-staffed with under-experienced kids who earn less than apprentice garbage men. He wasn’t telling us anything new he said; justice is out, movement is in, and his employer, the public, couldn’t care less.

I told him he was wrong, that the public does care. I reminded him that when cops and prosecutors and judges were stomping on people’s rights they didn’t stand for it, and now the public isn’t safe they won’t stand for that either, and while we wait for the pendulum to swing back and forth, we have to keep on keeping on. We have to hang on to things like the Oath of Office and personal integrity. I noticed Fox looking at the ceiling and yelled at him to stop it. I reminded him that we’re supposed to be public servants and to me that means doing everything; EVERYTHING in our power to keep ‘citizen butchers’ like Slote off the street. Caseloads and movements be damned I added for effect. 

Frank congratulated me on my ‘speech’. It had been a while since I'd had the ‘civic flag’ out, and it felt good. Fox seemed to have brightened up as well and told me that anyone who can shut his ‘asylum’ up even for a second must be some kind of miracle worker. Crocker looked at me and nodded his support. Anyway Fox gave in and told me that although the case stank we would keep at it until the court threw it out. That was all I needed to hear.

****  
Tuesday afternoon

Crocker and I headed over to Vestry Street, which had changed beyond all recognition since his beat pounding days. 

“The Award Diner,” I announced, “four years later and it’s just asphalt and parked cars.” There was nothing left of what had once stood there. We stood at the side of the road looking over to where the diner had been. 

“So let’s see,” I spoke to Crocker, who was still very quiet. “You were across the street and you saw the blinds down and the closed sign up, and a good cop like you picked up on that, and then what?” He told me he’d started across the street, and began to walk toward the place where the diner had once stood. Then he stopped and told me he’d been at about that point when he’d heard the first two shots.

“So what next; do it,” I encouraged, trying to cheer him up. He told me he had gone up to the diner and looked through the window and that was when he’d heard the screams.

“What screams?” I asked. “Red ones? Green ones?” Crocker looked at me and sarcastically told me it was ladies screams he’d heard. I walked over and leaned against a car.

“OK, so I’m leaning on the counter,” I told him. “What do I see: Lessonbee, his wife, customers; what else?” No, not his wife, Crocker told me. According to her statement she’d been out on a job connected with their then new catering business. “So was she here, or wasn’t she here?” I asked him. He told me the Rockettes could have been having lunch in there on that day because when he went after Slote he hadn’t exactly stopped to count noses. 

At that moment we were joined by Josh Candoo who had with him a full witness list complete with names and addresses. I told him to take a look around. 

“Four years of ‘progress’ and there were no witnesses, no building, no nothing; nothing but complaints against the police.” I told him. I looked at Crocker who was slumped against a car looking thoroughly fed up. I took the list of witnesses from Candoo and asked him if there were any ladies on it. He replied that yes there was one; a Mrs Thalia Kajabe, a Greek lady. I asked if she’d been a customer or a worker. He replied that she’d been a customer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Crocker stand up straighter. But then Candoo informed me that the lady had already been interviewed, that she was in her nineties, didn’t speak a word of English and didn't even know what time it is and therefore we had nothing. I saw Crocker slump back against the car; he was taking all this very personally, as I knew he would.

I asked Candoo if he would mind if WE spoke to Mrs Kajabe. He asked why, and I told him; because there’s no such thing as a Greek lady who doesn’t know what time it is. I then turned to Crocker and asked him if, when he’d searched Slote’s apartment, he’d really been worried the man had an accomplice. He told me he was so scared he thought the man had nine buddies hidden in the closet with burp guns. We all smiled at that. I remarked that we knew Slote had no mob connections; that he was strictly an independent, but someone had killed Lessonbee for him and that it took a lot of bucks to pay for a slick lawyer like Orin Kingsley, so Slote had to have a friend on the 'outside’. Crocker immediately brightened up and informed me that the man used to drink a lot with some guy, and asked if I thought it might be HIM who’d killed Lessonbee. Candoo remarked that there couldn’t be many people who’d want to drink with Slote. I could see the wheels turning in Crocker’s head. 

“Wait a minute,” he began. “The guy was a longshoreman,” he paused again. “I saved him from getting ‘rolled’ one night; he was ‘bombed’. He kept laughing at how young I was. Jack Boston!” He suddenly exclaimed, looking a lot happier, “He told me to watch out for Slote and his friend or they would take my badge and shove it in my ear!” I told him to start now; to check the bars and the unions and find this Jack Boston. He took my car and headed off.

In the meantime Candoo drove me to the pier where Mrs Kajabe’s family ran a small sail-making and repair business. I spoke to the old lady who was sitting in the sun watching her sons and grandsons while they worked. She told me that she remembered a nice gesture from her past, because it WAS a nice gesture. She told me about a lady who worked in the diner who made Greek food especially for her. I asked Candoo if he could guess who that lady had been. It took him a while before he realised it must have been Carol Lessonbee. On the way back to his car I asked him how come he hadn’t learnt Greek at law school. He told me he’d never learned to stand on his toes either, but he’d once prosecuted a ballet dancer. I decided I liked this guy!

****

It was dark out when Candoo and I arrived back at the precinct. The first thing I did was to ask Tracy to contact Riker’s Island to see if he could find out who'd been vising Burl Slote during the past six months. Then I asked if he knew where Saperstein was; he didn’t. Rizzo bounced over to where I was stood looking very pleased with himself. He’d tracked down one of the missing witnesses, to Colorado. I told him to get the man an airplane ticket; first class. But there was a small problem; the guy had fifty-six traffic warrants out against him. I told Rizzo to find someone who could fix the tickets, and he looked at me and then Candoo, but our friendly lawyer pointed out that it would be quicker to start extradition proceedings, by which time Slote would be long gone. I told Rizzo to lie to the man, anything to get him to New York! 

I opened the door to my office narrowly avoiding a flying paper cup filled with coffee. There was my missing detective, struggling with old Pete Parkin; the witness who lived in doorways and that was where Metro had found him. The guy was ‘bombed’. I asked Saperstein if he’d managed to get anything out of him apart from wine drops and fleas, but he said the only thing he’d got so far was a lot of four-letter words. I ordered him to take the old guy down to the Detox Centre. Maybe four years ago he'd been sober... 

The two men struggled across my office and almost collided with Frank who was walking through the door looking more than a little frustrated. Everything takes time he told me; Washington had said it would take at least two weeks to ascertain if any of the South Vietnamese sailors who were in the Award Diner four years ago had settled in the United States after the war, and had I heard about the guy from Colorado? I’d heard I told him. I mentioned to Frank that there may be at least one witness who wasn’t on the list; Lessonbee’s wife Carol. I told him I’d spoken to Mrs Kajabe and what she’d said to me about the nice lady who used to make Greek dishes for her whenever she visited the diner. According to her original statement she’d been catering a luncheon for the Young Republicans. I told Saperstein to check that out – after he’d taken Pete to the Detox Centre of course. There had been sixteen witnesses four years ago; I didn’t imagine anyone had felt the need to check and see if Mrs Lessonbee had actually been where she'd claimed to be. Rizzo came to assist Saperstein with our drunken friend and advised me that Crocker was on the phone. 

My detective has always been good at tracking people down. I don’t like to ask how he does it, but he’s always had a knack for finding people, sometimes in the worst of places. This time he’d located Jack Boston, in a bar near the docks. But the man was reluctant, belligerent even. A big word for Crocker I thought - I noticed a long time ago that he keeps a dictionary in his desk and whenever I use a word he doesn’t understand, he looks it up. Anyway I asked him if he’d shown Boston his badge. He replied that the guy didn’t like cops. Candoo pointed to himself. I asked Crocker if Boston liked lawyers, but he didn’t like them either. I asked if Boston remembered Slote and his buddy and was informed that he did. I told Crocker to hold the man where he was, that Candoo and I would come down to join him, and maybe we'd impress Boston with the numbers. I asked Candoo if he had anything on him that resembled a subpoena and he offered his rent bill. I grabbed it and we walked out of my office past Frank who looked at us with a look of utter disbelief on his face.

****

Wednesday morning

Several painful hours later Crocker and Candoo had managed to subdue Jack Boston, who had ended up sprawled on the pool table covered in cuts and bruises. The man even congratulated Candoo on his fighting technique and said he should be in the ring. Crocker though was a different matter; HE'D learned to fight on the streets and lacked the finesse of Candoo who’d boxed at college. Both men had sustained cuts and bruises to the face and both were rubbing their knuckles. Crocker’s nose was also bleeding and I could see he had the beginnings of a black eye. Since I was there in a purely supervisory role, it goes without saying I was totally unscathed. 

I was paying the owner of the bar some money as compensation for the damage we’d caused when Frank arrived. He looked round the room at the broken tables and chairs and asked if there had been an earthquake in the city. I introduced him to Jack Boston who had finally decided to become a witness. For or against? Frank had asked, before turning on Crocker to demand why he hadn’t used his gun. My detective rightly reminded him that we wanted Boston as a witness. Frank was amazed we’d been working on Boston all night, and asked what the guy had given us apart from a laugh, so I told him. To begin with, when Slote first arrived in the ‘Big Apple’ he’d worked with Boston a couple of times, slinging freight, and he had asked the man if he wanted to open up an armed robbery business with him. Boston had refused saying that it wasn’t in his ‘line of work’. Anyway I continued, one night Slote was drinking with some guy, Boston was in the next booth and he heard Slote talking about a couple of jobs he’d ‘pulled’, and the ‘grabber’ was he also talked about how he was going to ‘knock over’ the Award Diner. Frank asked what Candoo thought about it all, but before the kid could reply I jumped in and said that it would prove ‘prior intent’. Frank pointed out that Boston was not exactly a ‘pillar of the community’ and Orin Kingsley would tear him to pieces. I replied that it would buy us some time, perhaps as much as half a day, and that now it was time to start looking for Slote’s ‘friend.’ He was supposed to be a hillbilly like him, possibly a family member, or someone from his home town.

Frank said if it was he had a name. Earlier I’d asked Tracy to contact Rikers Island to see who had been visiting Slote. Frank had spoken to Tracy before he left to join us and he’d found out that apart from Kingsley the only other person to visit Slote was his brother Henry. Frank then left us in the bar while he went back to the precinct to sort out a warrant to arrest the man. There wasn’t much of a chance I thought, but if we could tie brother Henry to the Lessonbee killing we could ‘blow’ this thing wide open. I asked Candoo to keep Boston on the witness stand for as long as he could. He was hoping for more than that; Boston is a surprise witness he said, and Kingsley will howl about it. But he hoped the man would ask for a delay in order to allow him time to prepare a defence.

I phoned Saperstein at the precinct to see how far he’d got with finding out where Carol Lessonbee actually was on the day of the robbery. It turned out she’d lied to us. She’d catered the Young Republicans the day BEFORE the diner was hit. Crocker thought about it and decided that maybe it had been HER screams he’d heard. Yeah I thought, but would she admit to it.

****

A couple of hours later I went in search of Carol Lessonbee and found her in a nearby funeral parlour kneeling in prayer in front of her husband’s coffin. Two friends had been with her offering support, but they left when they saw me.

Standing up she asked me what I could possibly want with her husband now. I told her it wasn’t him I’d come to see, but HER. She reminded me that this was a very bad time for her. I pointed out that it would be a very bad time for everyone if Burl Slote got off. Then I told her that I knew she’d lied in her statement about her whereabouts on the day of the robbery, that she hadn’t been catering a function; she’d been right there in the diner making moussaka for old Mrs Kajabe. She told me I’d come to the wrong Lessonbee, but I knew I hadn’t. She also said she had no intention of dying for her city. As calmly as I could I told her that Slote had had four years in which to remember every face from the diner, including HERS. I told her I was trying to prevent her from dying. She remarked sarcastically that THAT was something I was good at. I continued and explained that we were pretty sure Slote’s brother Henry had killed her husband and we'd get him, but we already HAD Burl and with her help we could keep him. She reminded me that we’d started with sixteen witnesses and THEY hadn’t helped had they? I told her keeping track of witnesses was never an easy task and four years ago there had been no reason to as Burl Slote had pleaded guilty. Case closed. We were lucky to have found her husband I told her. She stood up and drawing herself up to her full height accused me of asking her to be a good citizen.

“My husband had been a good citizen,” she reminded me. “He'd had the Black American dream: Harlem to Vestry Street to East 56th: the hottest catering business in town; mink coats for me and pure-bred dogs for him. He paid his taxes and he never even got so much as a parking ticket. He believed the propaganda you people put out!” She then told me to leave her alone and turning round, knelt back down beside the coffin. I left her to her prayers and headed back out to the reception area where I asked a staff member if I could use the telephone. She directed me to the Winged Thoughts Room.

Frank answered the phone, and informed me that he’d spoken with Candoo. Apparently our delaying tactics hadn’t worked as both Kingsley and the Judge were in a hurry this morning, but Candoo HAD managed to get a ten minute recess due to his wounds. Apparently ‘His Honour’ had found the story of how Crocker and Candoo had subdued Jack Boston ‘very colourful’. Candoo didn’t think he could stretch Boston’s testimony for more than another half hour, but Frank had told him our surprise witness, Ballinger from Ballistics should be there by then to provide testimony on the type of bullet used to kill the people at the diner four years ago. I asked how Crocker was. Frank informed me that he looked rough. He’d been checked by the precinct medical officer who'd advised him to go home. Naturally he'd refused and after having been helped upstairs was currently sitting at his desk holding an icepack to his face. He'd also been trying to find an address for Henry Slote, but the most recent he could find had been a torn down building, but he hoped to have his picture on the streets within the hour. I told Frank that there’s no question, Carol Lessonbee had been a witness, but she was hostile, hurting, frightened and refusing to cooperate; we’d most likely have to subpoena her if we wanted her to appear at the court. I asked Frank to get Crocker on it and said I would remain at the funeral home until he arrived with the paperwork.

After I finished talking with the captain I headed back to the Chapel of Rest where Mrs Lessonbee was. As I opened the door I heard a male voice and saw a stranger in the room with her; in his hand was a large knife. Henry Slote I guessed. She looked terrified. He was telling her that he'd 'cut' her husband, and that he knew she’d seen his brother do the killing at the diner four years ago and that his brother had told him to 'cut' her as well. Quietly I shut the door and made my way round to the back of the room and hid behind the curtain. I could hear the two voices quite clearly now and heard Mrs Lessonbee telling Henry that she hadn’t seen anything. Pulling out my gun I announced myself and pushed my way through the curtains. As I approached Slote shoved Carol out of the way, darted past me and ran toward the back of the building. I followed him into a storeroom. All was quiet, but I walked slowly, keeping my ears and eyes open and looking at a shiny metal container I could see his reflection coming up behind me. As soon as I felt his breath on my neck I quickly turned and grabbed him, threw him into an open coffin and slammed the lid down on his wrist causing him to scream and drop the knife. He then started yelling about his rights. I sat comfortably on top of the coffin and told him to rest in peace until the troops arrived.

****

Wednesday afternoon

Once Henry Slote had been taken away I made my way back to the Criminal Courts Building. As I entered the court room I heard Ballinger telling the jury all about exploding bullets, with pictures yet. Apparently a ‘thirty-eight’ calibre bullet, weighing a hundred and eighty grains, having been hollowed out and, providing it’s travelling at more than six hundred feet per second will disintegrate upon impact. Who knew? Candoo asked Ballinger if that was what happens when the bullet hits a human body. Kingsley, looking rather pale objected on humane grounds. The judge agreed and asked Candoo to get to the point. The young lawyer pointed out that more than one bullet had been fired from Burl Slote’s gun and that each time the bullets had disintegrated upon impact. The judge, looking thoroughly fed up informed Candoo that the court had known all that an hour ago. The witness was handed to Kingsley who had no questions and Ballinger was dismissed. The judge asked for the next witness. Candoo asked permission to confer with me, which was agreed.

Looking rather worried Candoo asked me what had happened to Mrs Lessonbee; she’d fled from the funeral home and hadn’t been seen since I told him. Crocker was out looking for her with a subpoena. In the meantime I decided that I would be the next witness. I told Candoo that Henry Slote was in the holding pen downstairs and that he’d admitted, in my presence, that his brother had told him to kill Lionel Lessonbee; he had been in the process of trying to kill Lessonbee’s wife at the time, also as ordered by his brother. 

Candoo pointed out that there was proof of a conspiracy, but he wasn’t sure it was relevant to OUR case. I told him that I call killing witnesses very relevant. He was looking worried and mentioned something about hearsay, that there’s a legal line somewhere. Thankfully Mae came to his rescue. She asked if Slote had admitted the conspiracy BEFORE I’d arrested him. I said he had. Then it’s admissible she cried out excitedly; Res Gestae - the events, circumstances, remarks, etc which relate to a particular case, especially as constituting admissible evidence in a court of law. 

In front of us I could see Judge Burke was losing patience and asked us if Candoo was conferring with me or with Mae. She waved her knitting at him and told him that as a friend of the court she had a right. Of course, I pointed out that Burl Slote had now had more time in court than anyone else in the building, and without Mrs Lessonbee’s corroboration we could still come up short. Candoo asked permission to approach the bench, and after a short discussion it was MY turn on the witness stand.

Candoo asked me about the arrest of Henry Slote. I told the court about what had happened at the funeral home; how after a short chase I'd taken the suspect into custody and come straight to the court house. Then it was Kingsley’s turn.

“Lieutenant Kojak,” he began, “you come to us as yet another surprise witness with an even more surprising tale. I’m somewhat at a loss, having had no time in which to prepare a defence.” That had been the idea, and Candoo wasted no time in pointing out that all through the hearing it had been Kingsley who had been constantly urging greater dispatch. 

“You won’t mind me saying,” Kingsley continued, “that I find this whole revelation a little fantastic.” I told him I didn’t mind at all; it WAS fantastic, and it almost worked. “And yet you want us to believe that the accused, a man with a fourth grade education could have concocted a sophisticated plot for murdering witnesses?” I pointed out that you didn’t need an education to stab someone.

“Detective Crocker testified at these hearings,” Kingsley continued. I was wondering when he’d get back to Crocker and here we were. “Now, he’s one of your men is he not?” I proudly told the court that Crocker is one of the best, which he is. 

“And as his superior then it’s only natural that you would be protective,” Kingsley stated. I replied that being protective is part of being a superior. 

“Well, just how far would you go Lieutenant?” Kingsley asked. Candoo started yelling that the question was argumentative and irrelevant, but the judge overruled him. It didn’t matter because I was ready for Kingsley. I told him that as long as my men continued to be the decent, honest, and hard-working people they were I would back them to the limit of my authority; all the way. At this point Kingsley ran out of steam and I was permitted to step down. 

As I walked back to my seat I could see Slote looking daggers at Kingsley who was muttering something about an appeal. At that moment the door opened and Crocker walked in with Carol Lessonbee. Slote immediately stood up, a look of shock on his face. The judge ordered him to sit back down. He was panicking and sweating. I wandered over to where Crocker was standing just inside the door. While she was being led to the witness stand I patted him on the shoulder and congratulated him on a job well done. I also noticed the bruises on his face which had ‘come out’ since I’d last seen him and the way he was holding his arm protectively in front of his chest. 

****

The jury took all of ten minutes to deny Burl Slote his freedom and together with his brother he’ll be in prison for a very long time. Afterwards Mrs Lessonbee came over to thank us and to say that once the funeral was over she was moving to Atlanta to be nearer her sister. But before she left she wanted me to know that it wasn’t our subpoena that had brought her to the court, but ‘Boy Wonder’ as she called Crocker. She told me that she’d been bitter and angry when he’d turned up at her apartment with the subpoena, and had informed him that she wasn’t going to be intimidated by a piece of paper. Somehow he’d managed to calm her down. She said she’d asked him why he hadn’t killed Burl Slote four years ago and thus save everyone 'all this trouble', and somehow, Christian to Christian, he’d made her understand that it was because he hadn't had to. 

****

Downstairs in the DA’s Bureau Candoo’s boss David Fox came over and congratulated him on winning our case. I told him he had a pretty good public servant working for him, and Fox had no doubt that within a year the young lawyer would be writing wills for rich old ladies in Scarsdale and making a fortune into the bargain. But in the meantime Candoo was getting excited about a gang killing on 44th Street.

Deciding it was time to leave Fox and his team to get on with their work, Crocker and I headed back out into the corridor and bumped into Mae who was carrying a small package; socks for Candoo she said, because he’d earned them. While we were chatting I amused myself by messing with Crocker’s clothes; laying the collar of his jacket down flat, straightening his tie. He was holding his arm across his chest and by the way he was breathing I figured he had to be in a lot of pain. In fact he looked as if he was about to pass out. Slowly we made our way outside to where our cars were parked. Mae called after us and asked Crocker his shoe size. And there I was thinking the next pair of socks had MY name on them.

****

We are, all of us, different things to different people; fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, lovers, husbands, wives…

Ask Crocker to describe himself in three words and he’ll tell you he’s a lost angry misfit. But I've never believed that. To his sister he’s her big brother, her hero; the person who when aged ten stabbed the man who was trying to molest her and took her to the safety of a church where he’d told her they’d be safe. To his foster parents he’s the much loved son they always wanted. To the congregation at his church he’s ‘Molly’s boy’. To his neighbours he’s that nice young police officer who sometimes plays the piano when he can’t sleep. He’s a friend, a brother, a 'son', a godfather, a decorated soldier, a much valued colleague and one hell of a police officer. And today he became something else; Carol Lesonbee’s ‘Boy Wonder’.


End file.
